The King's Saloon
by MasksandMirrors
Summary: Set in 1950's America, The King's Saloon is the famous club belonging to the Lannister family. Sandor Clegane, a hit man, encounters a mysterious young dancer there who goes by the name of 'Little Bird' who dreams of freedom from the hands of the Lannister boss, Joffrey. The story will be told in three chapters.
1. Chapter 1

It was a cool, crisp evening as Sandor Clegane made his way down to The King's Saloon. He could hear jazz music seeping through open windows of the tall apartment buildings that outlined the streets of this side of town. The occasional scream and sound of a bottle smashing were also often heard at this time of night, but it didn't bother Sandor; he had lived his whole life in this area and besides, he was the toughest guy in town. Exposed to violence and anger at a young age, he had grown up with all the love and kindness in his heart crushed, due to his brother, Gregor who had tormented him. It was because of the hatred for his brother that he decided to become a hit man for the Lannister family and aim to become the strongest man in all of the land so that when the day came that he stood face to face with his brother again, he would emerge the victor, and seek revenge for the huge scar Gregor had left him on his cheek.

Sandor reached into the inner pocket of his tattered suit and drew out a cigarette which he lit and took a drag. For miles around, the Lannister family were infamous for their influence and power which had attracted Sandor to them. He had been working for them for years now, making him an old hand at his job. He enjoyed what he did; violence seemed to be his calling in life, and it suited him, however the head of the family had recently changed to a younger member, who Sandor hadn't taking a liking to. He was arrogant and cocky and didn't know his limits, which was a dangerous combination for such a young boy.

Tonight he was heading for the Lannister's most famous club in town, The King's Saloon. He had been called in for another job by his boss, and besides he needed a strong drink.

The exterior of the club was completely black with its name written in glowing red letters that stood above the door, a crown rested on the title. Groups of people stood around chatting and drinking outside who moved aside when Sandor walked passed them.

Sandor glanced at the bouncer; he was a broad man dressed in a grey suit, a cowboy hat on his head and boots on his feet, around his neck he wore a large golden chain. He grinned at Sandor.

'Clegane', he said.

Sandor nodded, 'Bronn', making his way towards the door.

The bouncer frowned, 'Shouldn't you be using the back entrance?'

'I need a drink', Sandor growled, but by that time Bronn had lost interest in him, turning his attention instead to a group of passing girls. Sandor rolled his eyes and entered the club.

He passed through a smoky haze, the club was dark and packed full of people, mainly men. On the stage was a line of girls in skimpy outfits, dancing to a heavy bass beat. Sandor made his way to the bar, but was stopped by a tall, muscular man. The man brushed his sleek, blond hair back and took a drag from his cigarette.

'You're wanted backstage, dog', the man said.

'I'm getting a drink first', Sandor replied in a tone which suggested it was not open to debate.

'My sister's orders', he replied, a grin spreading across his face at the mention of Cersei Lannister. Sandor grunted, knowing it was best not to ignore the old hag. He made his way through the crowds of people and went out a door, leading backstage.

Chaos had taken hold, as it usually did at peak time, but thanks to Sandor's huge height he found Cersei easily enough. Sat in a black, leather armchair with a bottle of vodka in her hand, she still held an air of royalty; earning her the nickname, 'The Queen'. Her long blonde hair tumbled down to her waist, which she tossed back as she saw Sandor.

She smiled slyly, 'Clegane'.

Sandor nodded at her, 'Jaime said you wanted to see me'.

She took a swig from her bottle, 'Yeah, the boss wants to see you after the show, something about a job- HEY!', Cersei snapped at a passing dancer, 'Stop sniffling and get changed, you're on in five. He barely touched you so get back out there.'

Sandor looked at the girl and sighed, The Queen was ruthless with her 'girls'; being the lead dancer, she took it upon herself to assert her position amongst the group, though she was getting older and there were rumours of her retirement looming, but she remained as fierce and proud as a lion. He looked around the room as the familiar scene unfolded. He saw the costume designer, Renly, hastily adjusting some of the girls' complicated looking hair pieces. He looked up suddenly as the slender, soft haired tech guy walked past and grinned at Renly, who exchanged the smile.

'Fools', he heard Cersei mutter, obviously seeing what Sandor did, though she obviously cared a great deal more than he did, holding the club's reputation close to her cold, icy heart.

Back at the bar, Sandor ordered a double whiskey from a tall man with dark hair and a crooked nose. His brother stood next to him, pouring shots for a group of men. He took his drink to a secluded table in the corner of the room, watching the dancers on stage with a look of mild interest. Just as he was beginning to relax, someone pulled up a stool next to him. Sandor glanced over and groaned as he sat face to face with Tyrion Lannister.

'Try to hide your excitement at seeing me again', Tyrion said, his disproportioned face smiling.

'What do you want', Sandor grumbled, hunching over his drink.

'Can I not simply wish to share a drink with an old friend?' Tyrion asked.

Sandor eyed him suspiciously, to which the dwarf laughed.

Tyrion was the brother of Cersei and high up in the gang's standing. A smart man who sorted out the accounting and any other business that needed a more measured response than the boss was capable of. Sandor often found him irritating though; Tyrion knew how to outsmart others with his wit and cunning and Sandor often found himself mentally exhausted.

'I hear the boss has enraged the Stark family. That can't be good for business', Tyrion muttered.

'He's a greedy little shit', Sandor replied, laughing darkly.

'That he is. Although I'm sure even a pile of shit has more cunning than our boss, at least it would know not to steal from a family like the Starks. This is not likely to end well.'

Sandor frowned, 'What did he steal?'

Tyrion grinned at him from under his mismatched eyes, 'Why, she's on next'.

Sandor's frown deepened, 'He stole a dancer?'

'Yes well, she is no plain dancer. I hear she has a certain innocence, a certain purity that these whores lack. And that's what makes her special. As soon as the boss laid eyes on her in The Winterdrop bar, he wanted her,' Tyrion explained, 'And you know what he's like with shiny new toys...'

Suddenly Tyrion's attention was caught by a slender, black haired dancer who smiled slyly at Tyrion before walking past and out one of the back doors. Tyrion winked at Sandor and hopped of his stool, following the dancer out.

Sandor swirled his drink and downed the rest, watching the stage, waiting for the girl to appear. Despite his lack of interest in the dancers, and the family's business generally, he had to admit that this girl had piqued his curiosity. Generally the Stark clan were a fairly passive yet serious bunch, and for that they were well loved throughout the city, which was where their strength lay. Sandor was curious to see the girl who was to begin a war. Sandor had grown up without love or affection, believing them to simply weaken him so he had avoided them at all cost. A man of little words. They called him 'The Hound' for his keen sense of smell when it came to the stink of his targets. His two best friends were his gun and his drink. As far as he was concerned that was all he needed. That was what Sandor Clegane had believed right up until that stage lit up.

The crowded room hushed immediately as a short man with grey eyes stepped onto the stage, his arms raised. He smiled amiably around the room. The man's name was Petyr Baelish, a man of a humble background who had shown talent in manipulation and trickery, which the Lannisters found appealing. He was also in charge of all the dancers and sniffing out new talent.

'Good evening, my friends', Baelish said, 'I trust you are all having a splendid evening?'

The crowd roared with confirmation, to which Petyr grinned.

'Well as a gift to you, my dear friends, we have a special treat for you all tonight. And this treat comes in the form of a very lovely lady,' Petyr began, as the crowd began talking eagerly to one another, 'A girl with skin as pale as snow, eyes as blue as the ocean and the body of a goddess.' He extended one arm to left wing of the stage and roared, 'Tonight, I give you; Little Bird!'

The crowd were stomping their feet and cheering, but Sandor heard none of it. The room seemed to disappear as she walked on stage. She wore a long white dress with laced sleeves; her hair was a rich auburn which fell to the small of her back. She seemed to float across the stage; she turned and waved at the crowd. Sandor's breath caught as he attempted to take all of her in; her beauty was heavenly, her posture elegant, her smile radiant. A piano melody floated up from the orchestra pit and the girl began to sing. Her voice was the sound of summer and honey yet with a hint of sadness. She was effortless with the crowd, drawing reactions from them with her every action, her every note, but when Sandor looked closely he could have sworn she was trembling.

Unbidden visions of lust and love flooded Sandor's mind with the sight of her, his resistance mattered not. He saw her face even when he closed his eyes. He pressed his head into his hands as though attempting to physically get rid of the images, but it was no use. Sandor was captivated by her. He had to get out of here.

Leaving the smoky club behind and feeling the fresh air was a huge relief. Sandor stood round the back of the building and lit a cigarette. He took a deep breath, that haunting voice still in his mind. How long he stayed out there he could not say, but soon the streets were silent which was a rare thing and he was out of cigarettes, which was rarer still. He cursed and threw the empty packet away. Sandor sat down on the dusty ground and leaned back, closing his eyes. He felt much calmer now, as though nothing had changed.

Suddenly the back door swung upon and slammed shut. Sandor looked up and saw the girl stood there, shaking and crying. He stood up, unsure of what to do. When she saw him she held her arms up around her, as though protectively.

'I'm not going to hurt you', Sandor promised.

The girl stared back, her big blue eyes watering. She looked away and pushed a lock of her hair past her ear, revealing a large purple bruise on her cheek; still fresh. Sandor frowned and walked up to her, offering a handkerchief from his pocket. The girl smiled meekly and took it; dabbing at her tears and bruise.

'What's your name?' He asked, as she began to calm down, beckoning for her to sit down with him.

'Sansa', she replied, doing so.

Sandor stared at the bruise, knowing full well who was responsible.

Sansa noticed his gaze and laughed sadly, 'Guess there's no point saying I fell over?' The girl took a moment to compose herself before replying, 'It seems my brother has displeased your boss and he took it out on me.'

'Your brother's a Stark?', Sandor asked, confused.

Sansa nodded, 'I'm not really a dancer or a singer... Your boss seemed like such a nice guy, I thought if I went with him I would be happy but... I guess... that's not how the world works'.

They sat in silence for a while, as though silently agreeing on the matter.

'Is there nowhere you can go?' Sandor asked, finally.

She shook her head, 'anywhere I go, he'd find me.'

Sandor knew as much, but he was feeling, for the first time, nervous. His heart was beating faster than usual and he felt flustered. Just looking at Sansa made his mind feel numb. He felt protective over her for some reason, something he'd never felt before.

Sandor blurted out the words before he'd had time to process them, 'I could keep you safe, come with me.'

Sansa stared at him, confused joy on her face, 'What, just leave?'

'Everyone here fears me, they'd never hurt you again.'

The girl began to cry all over again, and scrunched up the handkerchief.

_What am I doing?_ Sandor thought, _what the hell was I thinking?_

'Meet me in the car park at dawn', he said, putting his hand on hers.

Sansa smiled, processing what he'd said and nodded eagerly.

The next day Sandor stood in the car park, leaning against his red Chevrolet. He tapped his foot nervously on the concrete. _What the hell am I doing? _He thought,_ I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going to go. What am I supposed to do with her?_

He turned and looked towards the club.

'Damn it I need a drink', he muttered under his breath. But his thoughts were cut short when he saw Sansa running out of the building. She grinned and waved at him. She was wearing denim shorts and a plain white t-shirt, her hair wild and flying behind her. In a flurry of excitement and relief she ran into him and hugged him tightly, but broke off suddenly, flushing.

Sandor cleared his throat, 'Got everything?'

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the ground. He chuckled, there was something very tempting about her shyness; it seemed to make her all the more sweeter. He moved to open the door for her but stopped as he saw a group of men making their way towards the two of them.

The shortest of the group was in front and threw up a gun, firing shots into the air. Sansa froze but Sandor merely frowned, waiting for them to advance. The leader appeared to be no more than a boy, his short, sandy hair ruffled in the wind. This boy was the boss of the clan, Joffrey Lannister.

He had an evil grin on his face, 'Where do you think you're going? Don't you remember Sansa, you belong to me.'

Sandor glanced at Sansa who seemed to have stopped breathing, so terrified was she of him.

'She's not yours anymore.' Sandor yelled in his deep, growly voice. He gripped her shoulder, 'The child is with me now.'

Joffrey threw his head back and roared with laughter, 'You think you can just leave me, dog? You're _mine_, you're _my dog_. You have nowhere to go!'

'Watch me', Sandor growled, grabbing his gun before the others had a chance to. Joffrey squealed and fell backwards and attempted to shoot Sandor but missed by miles.

'Get in the car', Sandor said to Sansa who had not yet moved. She did not respond, so Sandor picked her up and put her into the passenger seat. The car roared to life and as it did, the gang of men moved and blocked the entrance to the car park. But Sandor grinned and reversed back, sending the fence crashing down as they raced across the desert.

As they began to leave the scene behind them, Sansa visibly relaxed. She sunk down into the seat and simply went to sleep. Sandor smiled down at her, feeling again very anxious to keep her safe. He looked out over the golden sea of sand and the violet sky.

This was just the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

The King's Saloon, Chapter Two.

The two of them sat under the violet sky together, a fire burning between them. Sansa tucked her legs under her head and poked at the fire with a stick while Sandor sat, his legs outstretched. He looked up at the sky as the first stars began to come out, the air smelt of the ashes which floated past lazily.

Sansa looked up at him and cocked her head to one side, 'So who are you exactly? You're clearly not a Lannister but I don't think you're a lowly member of the gang either.'

'None of your business,' Sandor grunted.

Sansa pouted, 'Can I at least know your name?'

He paused before replying, 'It's Sandor.'

Sansa froze, then looked up with wide eyes, 'Sandor... _Clegane_? You're _The Hound_? A hit man?'

Sandor looked at her with a measured gaze; he assumed she'd guessed who he was by his run in with Joffrey; only a man like himself would have the guts to take on the boss of a gang like The Lannisters. At least his scar should have been enough proof of his identity.

Sansa stared at him for quite some time, as if trying to figure out her next move. Sandor supposed she'd wish to leave his side immediately; if her dreams of being with a prince were anything to go by, it meant she wouldn't want to hang around him for much longer.

'Am I safe with you?' Sansa asked, watching him carefully.

The question threw Sandor off guard, she was so vulnerable; so trusting. He felt protective over her. He would not hurt the child but if Sansa stayed with him, she would by no means have a happy life; they would be constantly running from The Lannisters, and Sandor was not exactly the most desirable of companions.

He chose his words carefully, 'As long as I am with you, no one will hurt you.'

Perhaps it was his bluntness, perhaps it was the honesty of his comment that made Sansa relax. After being with Joffrey and his manipulative games, perhaps she found it somehow refreshing to be with someone who had a kind such an open attitude. Sansa smiled at him, his huge physique probably reassured her that he would protect if he needed to. She sat next to him and looked at the sky.

'So now I know I'm safe with _you_, are _we_ safe _here_?' She asked.

Sandor snorted, 'Trust me, little bird, I'm the most ferocious thing out here for miles.'

Sansa looked around, hesitantly, 'But surely you've heard of the Silver Queen? I heard she rides around with her biker gang, stealing from anyone who crosses their path. I've even heard that she owns three leopards that run alongside her!'

As a hit man, Sandor had felt it his duty to familiarise himself with anyone in the area who could pose as a potential threat. The Silver Queen's true name was Daenerys. The story went that Daenerys was descended from the Targaryen family, who were well known in the city for being powerful yet mad. They ruled the streets for years, until one night when the Lannisters raided their hideout, killing everyone but Daenerys, who escaped. Now it was said that she rode around with her loyal gang of followers, slowly gaining power, until the day when she could claim the city back as her own.

However Sandor did not wish to frighten the little bird, so he simply replied, 'They're only rumours.'

Sansa looked up at the sky and sighed, 'It must be nice to be so free; just owning the clothes on your back and having the wind in your hair... But growing up I suppose I wanted to belong. To belong to someone; a handsome prince!' She laughed. 'Who would whisk me away on a white horse and we would live happily after. So went Joffrey showed up...' Her voice wavered slightly. 'I thought my prayers had been answered... The way he looked at me, like he wanted me, like he wanted nothing more in the world... I was such a silly girl.'

Sandor looked at the child and struggled to find the right response, sympathetic language unfamiliar to him. Finally he replied, 'It doesn't sound silly, to want to belong.'

Sansa smiled at him and took a deep breath. 'So how did you become a hit man?'

'It doesn't concern you.' He replied, gruffly.

Sansa laughed, 'So that's how it's going to be.' She chuckled again, 'What is it with me and dangerous men.'

Sandor looked down and didn't allow himself to divulge into the meaning of her last comment. He distracted himself by announcing that he was going to get some rest. He lay down on his side and attempted to sleep, only to find himself unable to think of anything but Sansa. He cursed himself for being so weak.

Sometime later he was aware of Sansa crawling towards him. He stiffened. She checked to see if he was asleep then, satisfied, lifted up his huge arm and nestled into him, placing his arm around her.

'_What the hell is she doing_? Sandor thought. He could have sworn he felt her snuggle into him. The thought of himself, The Hound: The most feared man in town, being used as a pillow almost made him laugh.

Unwanted thoughts began to form in his head of himself and the girl, which he attempted to push aside. The sweet smell of her hair felt almost intoxicating. He wanted nothing more than to stroke her hair and hold her close.

'What am I thinking?' he muttered. He wanted to protect her, didn't he? He would only frighten her if she ever found out his true feelings. All his life he had avoided compassion and love; they weakened men. He strived to be strong, and being strong meant having no weaknesses. He thought he had managed to stamp out any lust or love that dwelled in his heart, but at the mere sight of Sansa, she brought them to life. He found it maddening.

The next day Sandor spotted a huge cloud of dust forming on the horizon which told of the approach of a large vehicle. Sansa glanced at him warily.

'Get in the car', Sandor growled.

Sansa nodded, the fear visible in her eyes. Sandor leaned against the hood of the Chevrolet, resting his hand on the hilt of his gun for reassurance.

As the vehicle came closer, the sound of guitars drifted along with it. Sandor frowned as the vehicle was revealed to be a blue Volkswagen Campervan. The van came to a halt; his hand did not leave the gun as the window of the van opened. A girl with long brown hair poked her head out and waved at him.

'Hi there!' She shouted, jumping out of the window and trotting over to him. 'Which way are you headed, traveller?'

At that moment, three other girls appeared at the window, craning their necks to see who their companion was talking to. Sandor stared blankly at the girl, who was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable at how forward she was. Hearing all the commotion, Sansa poked her head out of the car and then came to stand behind Sandor.

'Are you guys going to the festival? That's where we're headed', The girl said, gesturing to the others in the van.

'What festival?' Sansa asked, curiously.

'Why, The Hand's Festival!' The girl looked thoughtful for a moment, 'Although I'm not sure why it's called that.'

Sandor looked at the girl; dozens of flowers were entwined in the locks of her long brown hair, she had big green eyes and she wore a long green dress embroidered with roses. She did not seem to be a threat, although Sandor had often found that those who looked the most harmless were often the ones to watch.

'What's your name, girl', Sandor said.

She smiled up at him, 'Margaery'.

Sansa seemed to have been won over by the girl and said, 'I'm Sansa'.

Margaery seemed delighted at the friendly response and grasped Sansa's hands, 'Sansa, it's lovely to meet you.'

Suddenly the girls called over, 'Ask if they have any food!'

Margaery giggled, 'It seems my cousins are hungry. We have brought food but we have no fire to cook it on', she glanced at the remains of their fire, 'could you perhaps help us out? We'll share our food, I promise!'

Sansa and Sandor exchanged a glance, with very different expressions, but before Sandor could resist, Sansa was already setting up the fire and the other girls were coming over.

Before long, Sansa and the others seemed like close friends but Sandor was not completely convinced. His job had taught him to be wary of everyone and Margaery seemed like a kind and pretty girl who was smart too, she knew what she wanted and how to get it; and that was a dangerous combination.

It was early evening as they began to finish the food that Margaery had brought, they had also brought elderflower champagne which the girls had drunk fairly quickly. Now they were roasting pieces of apple and banana on the fire to eat them warm. Sandor hadn't eaten much nor drunk anything; preferring to keep an eye on Margaery. He was fairly sure that her other three her companions were harmless; they were her younger cousins and appeared to be happy simply following Margaery wherever she went. As much as Sandor did not trust the girl, a small part of him was happy to see Sansa giggling with the other girls and joining in on their conversation.

'So who's going to The Hand's Festival?' Sansa asked, shyly.

'It's a very popular event, people come from all over the country to go there and watch the bands perform,' Margaery explained. 'In fact my brother is performing this year!'

Sansa sat, starry eyed, and gasped with amazement, 'Really?'

'Yes, he's involved with music at his job, but he simply loves to perform live. He's bringing a friend along this year; he met him at his work and the two seem to be very close'.

'I'd love to go one year', Sansa said, blushing slightly.

'Oh you must!' One of the cousins exclaimed. 'And you must come and visit us sometime!'

Margaery beamed and glanced at the last remaining apple on the fire and sighed. 'There's one more apple left, and it would be rude of us to eat it', she said, her cousins nodding in agreement, 'Perhaps you and your boyfriend could share it?' Margaery smiled mischievously.

Sandor flushed and cleared his throat, finding the scene a bit too much; he walked away; busying himself with a map.

He heard Sansa squeak, 'He's not my boyfriend'

'Oh, I'm so sorry, it's just that you two seemed so lovely together!' Margaery replied.

One of the cousins yawned, 'Margaery, we had best get going otherwise we'll miss the opening acts.

'Yes you're right, Elinor' Margaery said. 'Sansa, it was lovely to meet you and I wish you and your... friend happiness.' She seemed to put some emphasis on the word 'friend' which Sandor saw made Sansa blush furiously.

As the girls got into the van there came a chorus of laughter and suddenly Margaery bounded back out, holding a guitar. She ran up to Sansa and offered it to her.

'As a token of our gratitude', she said, smiling.

Sansa took it, blushing, and smiled. Margaery then went back to the van and they drove away, leaving Sandor and Sansa alone.

Sansa put the guitar in the car, then looked up at Sandor but quickly looked away as he met her gaze. The absence of company made Sandor feel very aware that the two of them were alone together, it didn't matter earlier but now he sensed some sort of tension between himself and her.

He slumped against the side of the car and looked at the map. After a while, Sansa tentatively sat down next to him and peered at the map.

'Where are we going?' She asked.

Sandor kept his eyes fixed on the map, aware of how close she was, 'Where is it that you want to go, little bird? Do you... want to go home?'

She looked thoughtful for a while, and slightly sad, before suddenly replying excitedly, 'Let's just go! Let's go everywhere!' She giggled, her face flushed.

Sandor somehow found himself smiling back, and from that moment on, he knew he would be a slave to that smile.


	3. Chapter 3

Sandor took a swig from an old flask he'd found in the boot of his car and studied the girl from across the fire. She lay on the ground, a lazy arm outstretched to a passing moth, her long, auburn hair lay disarrayed around her head. Sandor didn't like to admit it, but he enjoyed simply watching Sansa and her movements; she was so different to anything he'd ever seen; so full of elegance and sadness. It seemed to somehow calm the burning rage that lived inside of him, even just for a little while. Perhaps it was because he had not seen innocence for such a long time; it was a strange thing to behold, yet somehow transfixing; somehow healing.

Sansa lolled her head to one side to look at him and Sandor looked away abruptly. She laughed at his awkward reaction and smiled.

'Hey, let's do something', she said.

Sandor looked at her through narrow eyes, 'What do you mean?'

She got up and bent over the side of the car, looking for something, which revealed her upper thighs; Sandor quickly averted his gaze, embarrassed. Sansa stood up and grinned, holding the guitar that Margaery had given her in hand. She settled down on the ground and began to strum it aimlessly.

She smiled up at him and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. 'I haven't done this for a long time. Do you play?'

Sandor raised an eyebrow as way of replying, to which Sansa giggled. She looked down at the strings in concentration and began to sing. At first her voice was shy and unsure, but as the song continued her voice took on that sweet sound it had the night he had first met her.

He leaned back against the car and closed his eyes, letting Sansa's voice wash over him like the tide on the shore. Sandor was unfamiliar with the song, but he had the sense that he'd heard it before somewhere; its melancholic sound somewhat familiar.

Then, for a reason he could not name, a single tear brimmed in the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek. He opened his eyes, confused, and touched it gently. Sansa, seeing the sudden movement, stopped singing and asked if anything was wrong, to which Sandor shook his head. He cursed himself for looking weak in front of the girl and frowned. Sansa dropped the guitar, ran over and sat in front of him.

'Are you hurt?' she asked, her tone worried.

'I'm fine', Sandor muttered.

Sansa looked at him searchingly, reached up, and stroked his scarred cheek, wiping the tear away. She was so close to him that he could feel her warm breath on his lips. A sudden impulse lead him to brush a lock of her hair away from her face. She looked at him with her large blue eyes, as if waiting for something. Then, she leaned towards him, slowly, and lightly kissed him on the lips. She then kept her gaze down, as though worried about his reaction. He stared at her, eyes full of confused emotion, but then his gaze landed on her lips, pink and tempting, and his thoughts cleared. He cupped her cheek, gently, and kissed her again, harder than before and pulled her closer to him. Part of him was numb from the kiss; he had never experienced such a thing before and it had awakened some sort of hunger inside him, but another part of him was worried. He was suddenly very aware of how big he was compared to Sansa, he didn't want to scare or hurt her. She was so fragile; holding her close to him was like holding a little bird in his hands. He smiled at the observation as he kissed her.

The two of them slowly broke apart and rested their foreheads together. Sandor was a fearsome killer, a brutal man with a cold tongue, yet in that moment he felt like a young school boy. He didn't know what to do; he had never wanted anything more in his life than to kiss her and hold her again. As he held Sansa by the shoulders, he was sure he could be happy with just her beside him. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. How could he express what he was feeling? How did he put this feeling into words? Instead he leant forward and kissed Sansa's bruised cheek. She looked at him with understanding, as though that gesture was a declaration of some kind. She pulled his head towards her, and kissed his scarred cheek.

And it was in that sandy desert, far away from the busy lights of the world, under the star sprinkled lavender sky, that the two of them experienced the feeling that they had met before, in another time, in another world. They kissed each other's pain and made a silent vow to always be together.


End file.
